She wasn’t just a guest, though.
And I harbored doubts that she’d ever be comfortable again.
Based on her ignorance when using a seatbelt, I had a hunch she wouldn’t be able to know how to use many kitchen appliances. The primitive confusion she showed suggested that she would need help. I had to tread a fine line of offering her assistance when she wanted it while not trampling on her recovery. Her healing process of adjusting after trauma would be complex. But I was well aware of how I had to be considerate of her establishing her independence.
If she’d even ask for help.
That first night, I was glad to have Misha with us. He was observant, like me. Within the first few minutes after showing Kaliana the layout of the big cabin, he picked up on how lost she seemed.
How she just stood there, unsure what to do or where to position herself. Or like she was terrified to assume she could make a choice of her own.
“How about you sit over there?” my son asked her, gesturing at the bay window where a plush set of cushions made up a loveseat.
I was so damn proud of him for not telling her, but asking her. A question could be far less intimidating than an order.
“I really like the view over here because you can look down the valley. I normally sit there and read, but you can have this spotand I’ll sit closer to the fireplace.” He looked at me. “Are you going to start a fire soon?”
“Sure can.” I set about doing it as he gestured for Kalina to sit, going so far as to offer her a throw, putting it next to her and letting her choose if she wanted it.
With a fire soon roaring in the fireplace, crackling and popping and making the cabin toastier, Kalina sat on the loveseat and stared out the window. Misha sat near her and read from one of the books in his favorite series.
Much like how his voice had calmed her when he was just talking to me on the flight, the sound of him reading aloud filled the quiet that might’ve otherwise been awkward and tense.
Later, at dinner, when she kept her head down and waited for me or Misha togiveher food on her plate or bowl, she still didn’t eat much. Like she wasn’t sure if she should.
Misha demonstrated how he liked to butter his cornbread, which was a mess. And when he burned his tongue on the stew I’d made, right before I burned my tongue too, we both laughed.
That night, I didn’t tell Kalina when to go to bed. I only told her that I was going to my room. Misha did the same. We both bade her goodnight, and I hoped that the freedom she had to explore or decide when to go to her bed wasn’t too much pressure on her.
It felt like a test. Hell, bringing her here felt like a big experiment.
In the morning, it was more of the same thing.
Mute. Nervous.
She wasn’t eating much, either, but I could’ve sworn she ate a couple of corn muffins after Misha and I went to bed.
Her reserved and nervous nature had me suspecting that she had been emotionally conditioned for many years. Such a long spell of torture like that would take time to correct and move on past.
But how long?
Maybe she had been so damaged that I was unqualified to help her.
While I hated the possibility that I could’ve made a mistake to bring her out here, alone with my son, I didn’t regret my guess that she would like the remoteness of this area. I was determined to give her as much time as she might need.
The next day, while Misha read to Kalina as she sat looking out the window, I took a call in my room. Emil had called and I’d missed it, so I replied now with a video call.
Both he and Sadie showed on the screen.
“How’s it going?” Emil asked.
“Is she warming up to you at all?” Sadie asked.
I didn’t lie. I told them how things were here. Neither of them seemed surprised. I doubted anyone would magically snap out of her shell and shock the second she got here.
“I do think it is a good move, though,” I told them. “She seems to like the view.”
“Maybe she was never allowed to be outside much,” Emil said.
